


Of Glowing Starlight

by darkseraphina



Series: Radiance [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon-Typical Violence, Cultural Differences, Digital Art, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Elf Culture & Customs, Elrond/Female Legolas, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Female Friendship, Female Kíli, Female Legolas, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 00:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkseraphina/pseuds/darkseraphina
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield has no love of elves, but a burning hate of orcs — so it isn’t terribly hard for Gandalf to convince him to join efforts with an elf-maid while they are hunted across the foothills of Rhudaur. Elf or not, he can only respect someone who can so handily dispatch their enemy.He only wanted to get the Company to safety, and to the Misty Mountains for the next leg of their journey. Rivendell was never on his itinerary — and he never expected the she-elf they fell in with to be the wife of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell.But then, Legolas has always managed to surprise people.The Company of Thorin Oakenshield detours to Rivendell, thanks to orcs being . . . well, orcs. Everything that comes after that is probably not their fault.





	1. Prologue

**Title:** Of Glowing Starlight  **  
****Series:** Radiance #1  
**Fandom:** The Hobbit/LotR **  
****Pairing(s):** Elrond/fem!Legolas, Thorin Oakenshield/Bellamira Baggins (fem!Bilbo) **  
****Genre:** Romance, fantasy, action adventure, genderbend, alternate universe **  
****Warnings:** genderbend of several Tolkien characters (because I can and because there are entirely too many male and too few female characters in those books-slash-movies), canon-typical violence (which covers a _lot_ ) **  
****Word Count:** 13 314 **  
**

**Notes:** Canon divergence abounds here; there will be elements of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, as well as Tolkien lore, tossed in a blender and set to ‘pulse’. Also, my primary headcanon is mostly from the movies, with a nice dash of the lore and worldbuilding of the books.I like to use Sindarin and other Middle-Earth words, particularly as endearments. I am aware of my faults. I am aware that some people don’t like this little habit that I, and a portion of fandom, are guilty of. I don’t care. I list every term I use in a glossary and, if you can’t be bothered, context should give you a general idea. Tolkien created whole languages for us to play with in his massive, expansive world, and it seems a shame not to use them.

I made Legolas, Bilbo and Kíli female. Because reasons. Only Bilbo’s name is changed (Bellamira) because I found nothing that demonstrated either Kíli or Legolas were inherently male names other than their use for male characters. Neither name is ended with a specifically male suffix according to the digging I did in the various Tolkien dictionaries I found (which was a  _lot_ ).

I like to use Sindarin and other Middle-Earth words, particularly as endearments. I am aware of my faults. I am aware that some people don’t like this little habit that I, and a portion of fandom, are guilty of. I don’t care. I list every term I use in a glossary and, if you can’t be bothered, context should give you a general idea. Tolkien created whole languages for us to play with in his massive, expansive world, and it seems a shame not to use them.

 

* * *

* * *

 

* * *

* * *

 

**Glossary**

**Khuzdul** \- language of the Dwarves  
**Sindarin** \- an Elvish language most often used in the current Age; as opposed to **Quenya** , a much older elven dialect or **Silvan** , the dialect of the wood elves that has largely fallen from common use.  
**Mithrandir** [Sind.] ‘grey pilgrim/wanderer’; **Tharkûn** [Khuz.] ‘grey-man’ or ‘staff-man’ - names for Gandalf the Grey given by the elves and dwarves, respectively.  
**_mae g’ovannen_** [Sind.] - well met (familiar)  
**Imladris** [Sind.] - ‘deep valley of the cleft’; proper name for Rivendell  
**_hiril vuin_** [Sind.] - my lady; literally ‘my beloved lady’  
**_hîr vuin_** [Sind.] - my lord; literally ‘my beloved lord’  
**Mandos** \- one of the Lords of the Valar, presiding over the Halls of Mandos, the realm of the dead. His true name is **Námo,** the Judge.  
**Glorimírë** [Sind.] - golden beauty; one who is golden and beautiful  
**Peredhel** [Sind.] - half-elven  
**Rohirrim** \- the people of Rohan, the Horse-lords  
**Silvan** \- the Wood-elves; a secretive and forest-dwelling clan of elves with a love of trees and animals.  
**_Adar_** [Sind.] - father; **_ada_** (familiar), daddy  
**Azanulbizar, Battle of** \- a battle between the orcs occupying Moria under the command of Azog the Defiler and the dwarven armies under the banner of Thrór. Thrór was killed and his son Thráin vanished during the battle while Thorin earned the name Oakenshield.  
**Undómiel** [Sind.] - ‘twilight star’ or Evening Star  
**_mirë_** [Sind.] - a beautiful, treasured thing; especially a gem or jewel  
**Istari** \- wizards, the five Maiar sent to Middle-Earth to stand against Sauron; Saruman the White, Gandalf the Grey, Radagast the Brown, and two unnamed Blue wizards.  
**_mell nín_** [Sind.] - my beloved  
**_meleth nín_** [Sind.] - my love ** _  
_****_meleth e-guilin_** [Sind.] - love of my life

 

* * *

* * *

****

* * *

 

**Prologue**

The brown wizard raced across the plains with a pack of orcs trailing behind but Thorin knew they were far from safe. His sister-daughter went to leave the shelter of the rock and he grabbed the back of her tunic. “Kíli, no! Stay close.”

“This way,” Gandalf said, low enough not to carry far. “Quickly.”

They did so, moving from shelter to shelter and running full out when forced to cross open ground. In the distance, Thorin could hear wargs howl and once, when he climbed a tall boulder to take his direction, he saw in the far distance a small sledge being chased. Unfortunately, he also saw other orcs who were far closer, scattered across the Rhudaur lowlands in groups of twos or threes.

“They are hunting us,” he told the grey wizard. “This is strange, Tharkûn. Orcs nearly always seek the easiest prey, and they rarely have such great numbers when away from their lairs. This is not a simple raiding party.”

“No,” he agreed, “it is not, more’s the pity.” He seemed to consider that as he studied Thorin for a long moment, then opened his mouth to speak —

— when a warg bounded over a nearby pile of stones and the orc riding it seemed as surprised to find them as they were to be found. An arrow sprouted in the warg’s eye, piercing straight through its brain, and Dwalin brought his axe down on the orc as it fell from the dead mount.

“ _Move,_ ” Thorin ordered in Khuzdul, reaching out to drag the burglar with them. Both wargs and orcs could smell blood from great distances.

There were two more close calls in the next hour, and several times they had to abruptly change direction to avoid a group of orcs. The wizard cursed. “We cannot cross the plains directly, they are most numerous there. We will have to circle around.”

“How long?”

“To reach the mountains? In a straight line, half a day. As we are now?” Gandalf shook his head. “We might manage it in a week.”

“Listen,” Fíli hissed. “Hear that?”

Dimly, Thorin heard the sound of metal on metal and the sound of the Black Speech. Without a word, the wizard headed off. Thorin cursed so foully that his sister-daughter gasped and followed him.

Past a rocky hillock, they found the source of the noise: a trio of elves battling against a group of orcs. There was blood staining the ground and all the orcs were on foot, for the elves had clearly targeted the wargs first. Thorin liked nothing of elves and respected little about them, but these three were clearly skilled. He might have insisted on moving on, for there were only a few orcs left alive and, even as he watched, a she-elf drove her blade through the skull of one of them.

He chose, in the end, not to leave the sight behind for a few reasons. The wizard’s response to seeing them was to draw a sharp breath and breathed ‘Legolas’, and those elves standing were guarding several of their wounded kin.

And because his company was outnumbered and could use all the help they could find.

“Come,” he said, drawing the sword he’d found in the troll cave, “quietly as you can.” And ran forward, surprising an orc and running him through.

“ _Mae g’ovannen_ , Mithrandir,” the golden-haired she-elf said to the wizard after the last orc fell. “Though your timing needs work.”

“A wizard, my dear Legolas, is never late but always precisely on time. This is Legolas and Tauriel,” he pointed his staff head at another female elf, this one with hair of copper and fire, “and I believe that is Calben. They all reside in Imladris.”

“Rivendell,” Thorin heard the hobbit, Bellamira, breathe.

“This is the company of Thorin Oakenshield,” he finished.

“Well met,” the elf said. “Perhaps we might save proper introductions? The area is swarming with orcs and warg scouts.”

“Indeed, perhaps we might stay together. Just until the danger is past,” the wizard told Thorin slyly.

Thorin frowned, knowing full well that the wizard was plotting something but also aware they had little choice. “Agreed.”

The she-elf, Legolas, nodded. “There are more elves on patrol; we were separated by a large pack of wargs. We need to find them.” Then she reached down and helped an injured elf to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Yes, but I cannot draw my bow,” he admitted, showing the deep cut on one arm.

“Keep a blade in hand and give me your arrows. Make sure to wrap that wound tightly. Tauriel.” The copper-haired she-elf gave a low whistle, and a pair of horses trotted closer. “Put the wounded on their backs and let us go, before the blood catches their attention.”

“Legolas,” another elf said quietly, kneeling by a fallen horse. He looked at her and shook his head.

The she-elf looked sad and nodded, then turned away when her fellow drew a knife. She held out a quiver of arrows to Kíli. “They are no use to Timdir now, but they might be to you.”

“Thank you.”

“May your aim be true and your foes present an easy target,” she said, glancing around. “Let us go, quickly.”

“A bit of good luck, meeting Legolas,” Gandalf murmured. “You’ll find few better warriors and none with better aim. No elf in Middle-Earth is her match with a bow.”

“We need a little luck after this day,” Thorin muttered. Though he did not consider anything to do with elves to be good fortune.


	2. One

* * *

* * *

“Ride on to Imladris, as fast as you can! We will hold them back and buy you time!”

Thorin growled at the elf’s words, and not because it was one of the Eldar who spoke. His earlier thoughts had proven both right and wrong for Legolas and her kin had proven skilled warriors, but the orcs had kept coming no matter how many they avoided or killed. They had met with a larger company of elves, with enough horses for everyone to share mounts — good fortune — but there had been more wounded among them, demonstrating that nothing today would go well.

Worse still, there was no way to cross to the mountains with so many orcs around. Legolas herself had only shaken her head and told them to make for Imladris as fast as they could. And while a larger party was safer, it also drew more notice. Every confrontation left dead orcs behind them and more injured amongst them.

Now, they were nearly to Rivendell — a place Thorin would not have considered a sanctuary before today — but the orcs chasing them were gaining ground too quickly. Wargs were fast under any circumstances and, while they would not normally outpace elven steeds the horses were burdened by double riders.

They would not make it to safety, not like this.

The she-elf slid from her horse and left the elven scout who had been riding double with her to clutch to the reins and stare down at her in horror. “ _Hiril vuin_  —”

“Do not argue, Timdir!” She snatched a quiver from the saddle and waved a hand; five other able-bodied elves joined her on the ground. “Ride hard and sound the horn.”

Thorin’s Sindarin was rusty, but he understood enough of the torrent of words that followed to know that the wounded elf was not impressed with his lady’s decision as much because he feared the wrath of her husband as because she was a  _princess_.

“Yes, I am sure he will be very unhappy with us all,” Gandalf said sharply, “but far more so if you waste the time that Legolas wishes to win us!” The wizard dismounted his own horse, tossing the reins to another elf and leaving the burglar to hold onto the saddle. “Hold on tightly, Bellamira!”

“Gandalf . . . where are you . . . what are you . . . ?”

Thorin exchanged a look with Dwalin, and slid from behind the bloodied archer he was mounted with. “Don’t argue and ride on.” Dwalin, Nori and Bofur joined him on the ground, weapons in hand.

“Uncle —” his sister-daughter called, reaching for her bow.

“No, Kíli,” he snapped, “ride on!”

“Uncle, you need another bow!”

She was so young, his sister-daughter, with only her braids of age and family framing her face. Her beard had barely begun to grow and she was only just of age. Like her brother, she was too young to remember Erebor or the most desperate years of their exile. Her only reason for this quest was loyalty to him and Fíli and a young, adventurous heart.

“Stay with your brother,” he said. “He’s wounded, and at least a few of us who are hale must stay with the injured.

“Uncle Thorin,” she breathed, eyes huge.

“Go!” The elf riding behind her, one arm limp and bloodied, nodded to Thorin and put his heels to the horse, spurning the beast towards Rivendell and safety. The rest followed, sparing glances over their shoulders as they rode away.

Even before they were out of sight, a warg howled. Thorin turned to face the direction of the orc scum hunting them as the first appeared over the top of the rocky crag.

“More than a score of them,” Legolas murmured, elven sight outstripping his own at this distance. “Sound the horn; it will either call aid to us or sound a challenge.” She put an arrow to her bowstring one of the elves lifted a horn to issue a battle cry. “I imagine you are regretting stopping to render aid, Oakenshield.”

Dwalin snorted. “He’s never been what one might call sensible.”

“With you as a formative influence?” Thorin told his cousin as he raised his sword. “Not a surprise.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Dwalin, standing their ground in the hope of redemption by way of reinforcements. Clearly, Thorin needed to reassess his decisions. And his friends.

“Should we go forward and meet them?” Bofur asked, his heavy matlock in hand. “I don’t like the way they’re hanging back like that.”

“We have the high ground here,” Legolas answered.

“And we have crossed onto land that is part of Imladris, not just protected by it,” the wizard added. “Lord Elrond guards this ground with more than patrols.”

“What are they waiting for?” Thorin hissed, watching the warg-mounted orcs gather and wait on the stony crag. “To see if aid comes? Or are they expecting more of their accursed kind to join them?” The orcs on the plain were many but scattered. If they were gathering in force now . . .

“I have seen this behaviour rarely,” Legolas said. “This is not a raiding party, but a hunting pack. They are seeking something in particular.”

Thorin tightened his grip on his sword. “An elven princess, or a dwarven king? Who do you think is more valuable to them?”

The she-elf glanced at him, lip curved faintly. “I doubt they will argue with either as a prize. Heard that, did you?”

“I’m not ignorant of your language,” Thorin agreed. “I would like to say that the relationship between our races couldn’t be much worse, but I might be proven wrong if one of Durin’s line falls in a battle beside an elven princess. No one would take it well.”

“Then I suppose we must both endeavour to live,” she said. “Strike hard and don’t forget to duck, King Under the Mountain.”

“Try not to miss,” he responded, ignoring the insulted huff from a pair of elven warriors. Legolas took it in the spirit it was meant and chuckled. “Heads up.”

The orcs were moving forward, menacing and vile, though their lack of a charge seemed to prove they were concerned about a trick. A pity they were not a diversion for a larger force rather than a desperate last chance.

“Turn back!” Legolas called out, loud enough to be heard by the approaching pack. “Return to the dark from where you came, wretched ones, or face the might of Imladris.” Her bow was drawn to its full extent, and he didn’t doubt she could drop any one of them with a single shot. She had more than demonstrated her aim today.

“That might seems to be a bare handful of elves and dwarves,” one particularly foul and filthy orc called back, even simple words sounding harsh and ugly in its mouth. “Give in now and —” He was silenced by an elven arrow to the chest, toppling from his warg with a shocked look. Two wargs, including the riderless one, turned to begin feeding on the corpse.

Legolas already had another arrow nocked. “Last chance,” she called over the sound of snarls and the snap of bones. “Leave with your lives, or forfeit them.”

“My master demands a dwarven head,” another misshapen orc shouted. “One made naked by a broken crown. We will have Durin’s line, elf whore, alive or dead.”

Thorin knew only one orc who had hunted his line, but Azog was dead. He was  _dead_.

“If you want the head of Thorin Oakenshield,” Legolas shouted, “you will have to come and claim it — if you dare to risk your own!” The orc who had spoken snarled in the Black Speech only to be silenced by another arrow; the rest lunged forward and those who stood in their way raised their weapons, ready.

Behind them, a horn called, and a flight of arrows thinned the surging pack. The ground thundered with horse hooves and Legolas laughed, losing another arrow and then shouldering her bow. With a fierce battle cry, she drew a pair of long knives and leapt into the fray. Thorin and company followed, blades flashing and the air filled with Khuzdul war cries. With the appearance of fresh warriors — not to mention their bows — the orcs and wargs fell quickly and with no further injury to their party.

“Lovely to see you, Glorfindel,” Gandalf told the leader as he dismounted. “I commend your timing.”

“I am unsurprised to find you in the midst of chaos, Mithrandir,” said the infamous Balrog Slayer, the Twice-Born Glorfindel. “Indeed, I am only ever surprised to see you without an army haring after you to part your head and neck.”

“He’s met the wizard a few times, I see,” Dwalin muttered as he cleaned his axe.

“And you,” the elf said to Legolas. “What were you thinking?”

Apparently, being scolded for recklessness by the only elf to return from death did not bother the she-elf. Legolas only sheathed her blades and asked, “Did they make it safely?”

“Yes, stubborn one, they did. The wounded are already being escorted to the healing hall.” He crossed his arms and frowned. “Legolas.”

“And the twins?” she asked. Thorin assumed she meant the pair of dark-haired elves who had been injured hours ago, one rendered unconscious by a heavy blow from an orc mace, and the other bleeding from an ugly stab wound while defending his mirror image. As the only time Legolas had seemed frightened all day was when checking on the pair, Thorin assumed they were kin of some kind.

Glorfindel sighed and stopped frowning. “Your husband’s sons are safe in the healer’s hands. Everyone seemed confident in their condition.” Legolas nodded and turned to retrieve an arrow from a warg’s body, but not before they all saw her eyes go bright with tears.

Everyone gave her the illusion of privacy. Thorin understood what she was feeling, having seen Fíli take a wound. Legolas might be an elf, but there were some things that their races had in common.

“Come,” she finally said. “I grow tired of this place. It is less scenic than I recalled.

* * *

* * *

The hobbit was waiting at the top of the staircase when they reached the courtyard. She barely waited until the horses were being led away before running down to join them. “Are you all alright?”

“We are fine, burglar,” Thorin said more gently than he was wont. She was very pale and her eyes seemed unable to settle on anyone in particular. Thorin was familiar with the aftermath of battle and recognized the signs of shock. “No one was hurt. Reinforcements arrived.”

“Good, that’s good.” She looked them all over again. “No one’s hurt?”

Definitely shock. “Tharkûn.”

“Indeed,” the wizard said and picked her up like a child. “Come, dear Bella, we will find you some tea and food and place to rest.”

“This way,” Legolas said as she approached from behind them. “Your companions will be in the healing hall or nearby, waiting for news.” Silently, they followed the elf and wizard.

As they reached the top of a flight of stairs, a door slammed above them. An elf descended from the upper levels with more speed and less grace than his kind usually permitted themselves. Thorin frowned and saw Nori touch the hilt of a knife.

“Lord Elrond,” the wizard called to him and now Thorin could see that, despite a lack of adornment, the elf was dressed in rich fabric and wore several discrete marks of rank. This, then, was Elrond of Rivendell.

Surprisingly, he ignored the wizard and went straight to Legolas to catch her shoulders in a firm grip. He looked stern and angry, and Thorin wondered if he was about to start a war with the elven realms by defending the elf-maid who had fought beside them.

“ _Hîr vuin_ ,” she said quietly, laying a hand over his heart. “I am well, Elrond. I am well.”

He studied her for a moment and then drew her into a fierce embrace.

“Huh,” Dwalin said from behind him. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Neither was he, Thorin admitted to himself as they followed the wizard and politely didn’t notice the Sindarin words of love the elven lord murmured to his mate as they passed.

* * *

They were shown surprising hospitality. Usually, elves and dwarrow exchanged insults and antagonized each other under the thin veil of diplomacy but it seemed Elrond’s people drew a line at doing so when there were injured among them.

Instead of pointed comments about bathing habits and offers of elven attendants to aid in ablutions, the company were shown the baths and given a stack of towels and soap, their bloodied clothes whisked away immediately. Nor were there any overdone attempts to provide a ‘civilized’ meal; they were served hearty soups and bread and cool, sweet wine along with their injured kinsmen. There was no elven music or course after course of salads, just good food that would help the sick heal and sated even a hobbit’s appetite.

“We were even more fortunate to meet with Legolas and be chased across halfway across Rhudaur than I realized,” the wizard mused, leaning back in a chair by the open window and putting his pipe to his lips.

“Your idea of fortune and mine are very different, Tharkûn,” Thorin drawled. He frowned and pushed another piece of bread into his sister-son’s hand. “Eat, Fíli.”

Fíli huffed and took a bite; chewing pulled slightly at the spot on his temple that was coated with a thick green paste. “I’m fine, Uncle. I’m not a dwarfling anymore, you know.”

Kíli snorted from where she was tucked between her brother and Thorin on Fíli’s bed. She had one hand tangled in her brother’s sleeve, as she had all evening. “Could have fooled me, Fíli. A dwarfling would have seen that orc’s blow coming and ducked properly.” Her brother retaliated by tugging her braid, hard. Kíli returned the gesture with a pinch to his thigh.

“Enough,” Thorin rumbled, grateful they were acting more themselves and yet regretting it as well. “You should both act your age or I might take it in my head to leave you here, for dwarflings have no place on our quest.”

“Yes, Uncle,” they murmured. Thorin pretended not to notice when they made faces at each other. The hobbit, tucked next to Gandalf, didn’t bother to hide her giggle.

They were all lucky, Thorin knew. No one was fatally injured and they would all recover in days. Bruises and rattled heads, shallow cuts and moderate blood loss only despite how desperate their circumstances had been hours before. Thorin carefully did not think about the fact that the orcs had been hunting him specifically, while he wondered how he might contrive to leave his sister’s children here, safe from orcs and fire-drakes.

“Oh, good, you’ve eaten.” They all looked to the door and started. The voice was familiar but the figure . . .

Gone was the light leather and steel armour, the green and brown garments meant to blend into a forest or field. Instead of bristling with knives and an archer’s trappings, Legolas was draped in robes of the palest green and gold. Her white gold hair was no longer contained in warrior braids but flowed like water around her. Only two complex braids from her temples and a delicate circlet on her brow confined the length of it.

She didn’t seem to notice the stares as she entered the sick room, followed by a pair of attendants who began gathering the used dishes. Catching the edge of the heavy blue-grey coat that was draped over her shoulders — and clearly belonged to a man — she took a seat at the table set between the rows of beds and poured a glass of wine.

“Legolas?” Kíli asked.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, studying Kíli. “Did you take a blow to the head?”

“No,” Kíli huffed, smacking Fíli’s hand away before he could check for himself. “You don’t look the same.”

The elf coloured slightly. “Yes, well, I doubt you look the same when you’re at home in Ered Luin.”

“You’d think so,” Fíli muttered, “but she wears her archery gear to council meetings if we let her.”

“Better that than one of those rock-headed old dwarves get it in their minds to start talking about marriage and alliances!”

Kíli would be bound to a stranger to secure a treaty over Thorin’s corpse, but there were some people who couldn’t seem to take a subtle hint when it hit them in the head. Though they might finally see reason should Dís, his sister, make her point with a war hammer. If anyone made a political marriage, it would be Thorin himself and not his sister-daughter or sister-son. And he had not reached the age when he might begin to lose hope of finding his One.

“Of all the things I might miss of my father’s halls,” Legolas laughed, “that is not among them.”

“You too?”

“It is the fate of women born to rank to be seen as objects to be won or bought,” she said. “We can accept it, or fight against until we win the freedom to make our own fate.” She smiled at Kíli over her wine. “I have not yet found a foe that can stand up to a sturdy bow and enough well-placed arrows.” 

“She’ll sleep with the thing now,” Fíli muttered, hiding a grin. “Just watch.”

“You should take care how you tease your sister and over what,” Thorin murmured. “Or have you forgotten walking around with your eyebrows shaved when you were sixty?”

Balin laughed as Fíli reached up to check they were still there. “Aye, and didn’t you half deserve it, laddie, after teasing her for weeks over her guild trials.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledged wryly.

“Most elves don’t braid their hair,” Kíli was saying to Legolas, leaning over the table to study hers. “Lord Elrond had his braided, too. Is it a sign of rank?”

“The opposite, if anything. We braid back our hair to keep it out of the way of a task, so those who wear their hair long and unbound show their rank and that they need not fear it getting dirty or tangled. Thus it became the fashion to wear it unbound when idle, in hopes of seeming more important than you might be.” She shrugged at the various looks of disdain and surprise the dwarves gave her. “It is not hard to see where our races might find conflict in even simple things. I wear my archer braids even here because I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Elves,” Dori shook his head from his sick bed, where young Ori was tucked beside him with his journal out. “They even get braiding backwards.”

Legolas chuckled. “Someone else might claim that the Eldar came first and therefore you are the backwards ones, but it is a pleasant night and we are alive and safe so restarting an old argument between races seems foolish.”

“This one’s got more than leaves in her head,” Dwalin muttered.

“Thank you, Master Dwalin, you hardly seem to have rocks rattling in your skull at all.”

“You sure this one is an elf?” Dwalin asked the wizard, who chuckled and puffed on his pipe.

“And Elrond is the same way?”

“He is a healer first,” Legolas answered Kíli, “a warrior second, and a lord third and last. Any who would look down on him for being ready at any moment to enter the healing hall is a fool beyond the measure of it.”

“Here, here,” they murmured in agreement.

“In any case, I set aside all thought and trapping of rank when I came here, despite what a few of those joined me might still call me.”

Thorin frowned. “Your rank does not diminish because of your husband’s, surely?” It did not among dwarrow, which was why Dís and her children bore royal titles, despite his sister marrying a dwarf from a modest noble family.

“It does not,” Tharkûn said. “Legolas is as much a princess now as when she was born.” He smiled faintly around his pipe. “But she is even more strong-willed than she is high born and, as she attempted to cast aside her rank for Elrond, she persists in claiming that it took.”

“Mithrandir . . .” the she-elf said warningly and was ignored.

“But that is a long story,” the wizard finished, for all the world as if he didn’t notice the room perk up at the word ‘story’.

“A tale?” Ori asked. “Is it a good one?”

“Indeed it is, for it is one of old rivalries, of battles and danger and love found and fought for.” The wizard raised a brow. “Oh? Would you like to hear it?”

“Mithrandir, do not —”

“Yes, please!” the hobbit said. “I do love a good story, Gandalf, and you tell the best ones.”

Legolas cursed in Sindarin and Dwalin patted her shoulder. “Aye, you’ve lost. Best accept graciously.”

“Then listen,” Tharkûn began, speaking low and deep. “Listen to the story of how Legolas Glorim **í** rë, the Dawn of the Greenwood and daughter of Thranduil the Elvenking, came to Rivendell and fell in love with Elrond Peredhel, Lord of Imladris.”

Thorin stiffened at the name of the elvenking, but Kíli tucked herself against under his shoulder to listen, just as she had as a child. The memory of dragonfire faded before it could claim him, as did the remembered screams and cries of pain.

“Listen, as well, to how her fierce and loving heart stopped a war before it started.”

* * *

* * *

Bella leaned back into the curved bench as Gandalf’s voice washed over them. She was warm and safe for the first time in what seemed forever, though it had been but weeks since she left her safe smial in Hobbiton. Her stomach was full, as was her pipe, and she was the first Hobbit to reach Rivendell in decades, and one of the few to ever do so.

Her mother would be very proud — though she would probably scold Bella for forgetting her handkerchiefs.

“Before all else, it must be said that while Thranduil Oropherion, king of Greenwood the Great has several sons, he has but one daughter. She was born only a few short years before his queen passed to the Halls of Mandos. While the sons of Thranduil are all in his image, being tall and strong, lithe and fair — his daughter is the very image of her mother, as golden and fair as the winter’s dawn.”

Bella glanced at Legolas, who was refusing to look at Gandalf and instead stared out the window at the twilight. The words were poetic and she could see where they had come from. Hobbits might value different things than elves, favouring beaus who were good gardeners and cooks, who loved food and drink and laughter, but even the most stubborn hobbit would admire Legolas’ pale skin and golden hair.

And she certainly looked like a maiden out of a grand tale told in song and verse, though she was undoubtedly the same elf from before, who had worn armour and fought orcs with flashing blades and fired arrow after arrow without tiring.

“But that is where the resemblance ends,” Gandalf continued easily, his voice smooth and steady as he weaved his story. Around the hall, everyone settled more deeply into various beds and chairs, getting comfortable. Really, all they needed was a fireplace and some ale, and this might be a cozy winter’s night in the Shire. “For while her mother was a gentle creature, Legolas was born with the heart of a warrior, proud and fierce and fearless. She grew tall and lithe as a willow and, as the Elvenking had a kingdom to see to and a grieving heart and her brothers were millennia older than she was, Legolas also grew as wild as she did strong.”

“Sounds familiar,” Fíli murmured, nudging his sister with an elbow and receiving one in return.

Gandalf laughed and blew a butterfly of smoke. “Indeed. Princess or not, Legolas ran wild in the Greenwood, preferring her father’s lands to his halls, and those who watched over her loved her too much to force her to walk slowly or speak softly or even to stay indoors. When his daughter came of age, Thranduil found himself not with a gentle elf-maid but with a fey creature, more at home in the trees than in fine robes, who knew every inch of the Greenwood and who was quickly outstripping those who taught her to shoot and fight and ride.”

“I’m sure he took that well,” Glóin muttered to Bombur as they split the last loaf of bread between them.

“No,” Legolas said softly. “No, he did not.”

“Before long, the Elvenking realized he could not order his daughter to do as he bid and, while Thranduil is many things, he is not a cruel father.” Gandalf ignored the hard sound that Thorin made, as did everyone else. Legolas only looked at the dwarf sadly. “No, for all his faults, and he has as many as being who has ever walked Arda, Thranduil loves his children. But his life is long, as is his memory, and his griefs are many. Where Thranduil loves, he fears; the greater his love, the greater his fear grows. And he has but one daughter.

“Because he feared to lose his daughter as he had his wife and father and brothers and mother, he wanted to keep her safe. But Legolas did not want to be kept safely away from the world in her father’s halls, to stay always in his sight and under his protection.” Gandalf puffed for a moment, watching as Thorin ran a hand over Kíli’s braids. “So the Elvenking first sent his daughter to Lothlórien, the Golden Wood, for while he has no love of the Lady Galadriel or Lord Celeborn, he hoped their peaceful land would gentle his daughter’s spirit.”

“Or perhaps he hoped she would feel inadequate in her leathers compared to the perfect grace of the Lady and her court, and would put them aside for gowns and perfumes,” Legolas said quietly.

“Perhaps,” Gandalf agreed, and Bella remembered when her Baggins cousins scolded and teased her for being too Tookish and not enough of a Baggins, and how she had often ended up alone when she was sent to play with them. “But if that was his intention, he was to be disappointed. For over one hundred years Legolas lived in Lothlórien, and during that time she studied under the golden troop of the Galadhrim, learning from warriors who fought in the wars of the first and second and third age of this world and joining them in guarding their wood from the dark creatures of Middle-Earth. And instead of stillness, she learned the patience of a hunter.

“When she returned to her father, Thranduil found his trouble all the greater for Legolas’ wildness was not gone but tempered by greater strength and she was a proven warrior whom he had no excuse to hold back from joining the Greenwood army. Worse still, when she had left she had been but a sapling, lovely and strong but still to grow, and in Lothlórien she had come to bloom. Now the name her father gave her, Legolas, suited her less than the one her mother bestowed: Glorim **í** rë, which means one who is a golden and beautiful treasure.”

“A father’s worst nightmare,” Bombur, who was a proud father several times over, agreed. “Not that I’ve sympathy for him, of course,” he assured the company. Though when he glanced at Legolas, he certainly seemed somewhat sympathetic to the Elvenking.

“It was certainly Thranduil’s, for now he not only needed to fear his daughter’s safety but for her heart. Being who he is —”

“Stubborn, prideful and prone to rash decisions,” Legolas interrupted, making the company chortle.

“Don’t forget as stubborn as a rock, my dear,” Gandalf agreed, “Being all these things, he decided that the best way to protect his daughter from a wounded heart or loving the wrong elf — was to choose someone for her to love.”

Every dwarf in the room sighed. Kíli stared at Legolas with wide eyes. “He didn’t.”

She rose to pour more wine for herself. “Oh, he did. Should your kin ever choose to parade handpicked suitors before you, Kíli, as if you are selecting a new horse, I hope you have the strength to shoot them somewhere painful and inconvenient.”

“She wouldn’t need to,” Thorin said. “Dís would have already taken a hammer to our heads.”

“I hope you did shoot him, lassie, for not a soul could have blamed you,” Balin said, shaking his head. “Foolish and useless — and more than likely to put your back up anyway.”

“The next few centuries in the Greenwood were very interesting,” Gandalf said. “Thranduil sent for noble elves of every realm but only allowed those he chose to meet his daughter, and they were all that he wanted for her husband — gentle and content to stay close to the Elvenking’s halls. Thus did he hope to temper his child’s heart and keep her close to him always.”

“You cannot forge steel with a soft anvil, or sharpen a blade with limestone,” Thorin muttered. “Only something that matches in strength and durability can be brought together without one or the other being damaged.”

“So the Elvenking learned, for there was many a suitor who lost interest when Legolas would conveniently forget they were arriving and come to the grand hall of the Greenwood in her armour and warrior braids. Though some seemed more interested after such a meeting,” Gandalf added when the dwarrow looked outraged. “But none of them caught her eye for more than a moment, and nothing could keep her from joining the Silvian guard to patrol the Greenwood and surrounding lands, or riding with the Rangers who guard the Anduin valley and the wild lands of the Rhovanion.

“For many long years did this continue — though Thranduil learned to be more subtle after he sprang a great many suitors on Legolas at once, in the guise of a great star festival, and forbade her from leaving for the weeks it went on. Legolas responded by riding far south to the lands of the Horse Lords, and staying there for a decade as a guest of the Rohirrim.”

“Good for you, lass.”

“The Elvenking was not pleased, but he did learn eventually,” Gandalf chuckled. “I believe Galadriel sent him a letter which said, in essence, ‘I told you as much’. In any case, this continued until just one and a half centuries ago, when a company of Silvan warriors left the Greenwood in search of the reason several trade caravans had failed to arrive. With them rode Legolas, whom these seasoned warriors loved as a leader or a sister. Except one.”

“Uh, oh,” Bella said, for she was a lover of stories and history. “He was in love with her.”

“Oh, dear,” Ori said, looking up from where he was writing Gandalf’s story.

“Now, you two, do not get ahead of me!” Gandalf cleared his throat and paused before continuing. “Except one; an elf of the Greenwood who had known her for many years, and who loved her.” There was a round of laughter. “Yes, yes, you are all very clever. Nandol loved Legolas, and believed that he would have her when the Elvenking finally realized that it was not a soft noble who would be a match for his daughter, but a warrior of the Greenwood. It did not matter to him that Legolas had given him no sign of affection, for his was a selfish love that wanted not to cherish but to possess. But he is not important yet.

“Out rode this company of elves, and they did indeed find the reason for the missing caravans. Goblins had invaded a pass of the Misty Mountains, and had feasted not only on the trade goods, but also on the horses and the people who brought them.” Bella made a face and tried not to think of such things. “Swift was their anger and swift was their vengeance, for they cleansed the pass of the goblin vermin and chased them back to their lair. They did not enter the goblin caverns, knowing better, but with fire and smoke and elven magic they choked out the wretched creatures and slew those who managed to escape as they crawled from their passages.

“Then their King, a foul creature thrice the size of an orc, emerged from the mountain. He was more dangerous than his subjects, being so much larger and vicious with it, and in the end they killed him by dropping a huge boulder on his head from a higher peak.”

“Aye, that’s the way to do it,” Dwalin said, pleased. “No need to sully a blade when good stone will do as well.”

“Thank you,” Legolas drawled.

“So they triumphed and in the end, it was not the goblins that were the problem, despite their numbers. It was the orcs.” Here Gandalf fell silent as he tapped out his empty pipe and began to refill it.

“Of course it was,” Bofur huffed. “What orcs?”

“A raiding party, or perhaps more of a war party,” Gandalf replied. “Up from Moria or come down from Gundabad; no one knew and it matters none, nor does their intended destination. The elves were as surprised to come across the orcs as the orcs were to find the elves, but both were quick to rally. The orcs had equal numbers but the elves had the high ground and, after an ugly battle, the remaining orcs scattered. The elves let them, for they had among their number many wounded and several who were near death. They needed healers and they were closer to Imladris than the Greenwood or even Lothlórien, so to the Homely House they made haste.”

Here Gandalf stopped and looked over to his left; where several elves had paused in their duties to listen to the story. One elf-maid was quick to bring him a cup of wine, and to refill it when he finished it quickly. “That is better. Now, where was I?”

“On the way to Imladris,” the maid said, then ducked her head and retreated again.

“Yes, of course! To Imladris, called Rivendell, the Silvan elves made their way and, upon reaching these lands, sought and received sanctuary. The wounded were taken to these very halls of healing, and the weary were shown to beds and baths and food — or would have been.”

Legolas said something brief and rude in Sindarin under her breath. “Finish your tale, Mithrandir. Do not think of my pride now.”

Several dwarrow chuckled though Bella didn’t know what was so funny until Gandalf continued. “Ah, well, pride was part of the trouble, along with well-meaning foolishness. For in the courtyard of Imladris, Legolas collapsed of a wound she had received from an orc. She had hidden the injury for she felt it was far less serious than those of her brethren. So Legolas, too, was taken to the healing hall, and her wound, which was not inconsequential and made more serious by the infection caused by the filth of an orc’s blade, was seen to. By Elrond, Lord of Imladris.”

There was a little sigh in the room as the elves and dwarfs alike exhaled. Here, now, they came to the real meat of the story.

Smiling around his relit pipe, the wizard continued. “Elrond is known to be one of the greatest healers in all of Middle-Earth, not only in this age but in the one before it and those Silvan elves who were hale begged the elf-lord to see to their lady personally — not because of her rank but because she was beloved to them. And Elrond agreed.

“For days he fought the infection and the fever that came with it, and afterwards he saw to the wound and the weakness that came from it. He cared for her when she was lost in the twilight realm, and nursed her through the half-waking state that came after. When Legolas was still too weak to rise, but too restless to lay still and sleep, Elrond sat with her and spoke or read aloud to her and listened to her frustrations with her frailty and her fears for her men. When she had no appetite, he ate with her so she would have company.  And when she was well enough to make short walks in the open air and see the sky, Elrond was with her.”

“And they fell in love,” Bella murmured.

“Yes, Bellamira, they fell in love.” Gandalf studied Legolas, who was once more gazing out the window, this time with a distant look and a gentle smile. “In the days and weeks that passed, Legolas found what she had not within her father’s halls: an elf who was a match to her strength, with a warrior’s heart and a healer’s hands. Elrond fought for her against a foe that she could not defeat alone and he neither looked to her and saw an elven princess nor a prize to woo and win. He scolded her when she despaired of her own weakness, and teased her to laughter when her mood soured.

“And when she rose from bed, determined to see the trees and put her feet to the earth and managed it through sheer determination, Elrond found her beneath one of Imladris’ ancient trees, too weak to make the return trip. He called her a fool and as stubborn as stone and unrelenting as the tide, and a great many other things as well. He used not her titles nor her rank, for he cared for neither when it came to patients refusing to follow his commands, and then he carried her back to her bed and made her eat and take a draught, and then he sat with her until she slept, and until she woke again.”

“Cursing her in Sindarin and Quenya alike,” someone said from the corner. “And he fair to rattled the roof with his temper when he realized she had left the house in the first place.”

“Yes, Erestor, thank you.”

“At your service, milady.”

“As for Elrond,” Gandalf mused, “well, Elrond has been alive since the dawning of a past age. He is not the oldest elf in Middle-Earth, for that is reserved for the likes of Glorfindel and Galadriel, Celeborn and Círdan. But he has lived long, and while elves are immortal, they do not go untouched by time. Elrond saw the fall of Gondolin, for he was the right hand of Gil-Gilead. He saw the great war with the Enemy, and made war for many years against Sauron and his might, and was there when the Last Alliance was both made and ended. For thousands of years, he had taken comfort in the peace of Imladris, built by his hands and protected by his power, and in his children. He was wed to Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, and there was kindness and affection between them but no love. For elves, like dwarves, love rarely but wholeheartedly. And only once in all their long lives.”

The wizard looked over to a pair of identical elves who Bella recognized from the plains; both were injured but had risen from their beds at the end of the hall to sit closer and listen. One raised a brow at Gandalf, and the other spoke. “Go on, Mithrandir, you speak nothing we do not already know.”

“Your father will scold you for leaving bed,” Legolas told them.

“Perhaps.”

“But we have only crossed the room, not wandered across the gardens to find a tree to sit under.”

“And we can still stand well enough to make the return trip.”

Then they both smiled and said, together, “ _Hiril vuin_.” Legolas sighed and there was low laughter from the gathered elves.

“Elrond and Celebrían had peace if not passion, and their joining allied Imladris and Lothlórien. And so it was for many long years, until . . .” Gandalf sighed and continued. “Until Celebrían was captured by orcs. Though her husband and sons rescued her, and Elrond did all he could to heal her body, her spirit had fled. Never did she wake, and before arrangements could be made to take her West across the sea, Celebrían passed to the Halls of Mandos. For the flesh is but shell to the spirit and, without it, will wither and fade. Elrond was left with his duties to occupy him and his children to comfort him — until Legolas came to Imladris.

“In Legolas, he found wisdom beyond years, a faithful heart and a brightness of spirit that meant that time sat lightly upon her. For Legolas had her share of grief and pain, and had seen battle, and yet found more in life to make her smile than sorrow. In the peace of Imladris, away from her father’s court, Legolas found reason to open up in ways she did not at home, and what he saw in her made Elrond love the Greenwood’s princess.”

“And here’s where it all goes wrong,” Kíli sighed. “I suppose elves are just as blind and stupid as dwarrow when their hearts are involved, right?”

“Love makes us strong and weak, and the most self-assured of beings is rendered self-conscious by a longing heart. Legolas, fearless in all things, had never let her heart be touched before, and was afraid of a battlefield she felt unequipped for. Elrond, weary of loss and grief, did not dare attempt to take for himself what he did not believe he could have. Fortunately for all concerned,” Gandalf smiled, “they had allies who saw clearer than they did. Elrond’s children, Elladan and Elrohir and Arwen, who wanted nothing so much as to see their living parent happy, and Glorfindel, to whom all of us are but children in need of help.

“They conspired to bring the two together and after a few weeks and more than a few mishaps,” there were groans, sighs and laughter from the elves and one of the twins rose to bow deeply, “Elrond spoke his heart to Legolas despite believing she would not return it, and Legolas called him a blind fool and offered her own. Their well-meaning brethren even gave them the courtesy of privacy,” he added, “after watching long enough to be sure they hadn’t made a mess of it.”

“We were very happy for  _Adar_ ,” a twin said.

“But there are some things no one should see of their father,” the other finished. Both smiled brightly at Legolas, who was blushing behind the hand she’d pressed to her face.

“Be wary of revenge,” Gandalf warned. “That one has a long memory and a wicked mind.”

Both twins looked less amused and more wary. “Oh, we know.”

“Well, Elrond and Legolas spoke their hearts and all of Rivendell buzzed with it, for many were happy and a few were outraged and all enjoyed talking about it. Elrond judged his beloved and her warriors were healing well, though it would be some time before they were all fit to travel the path to the Greenwood — and a day past never before he would wish to part with Legolas. A letter had been sent earlier, to tell the Elvenking his troops were safe in Imladris, but now Elrond sent some of the Silvan elves home to tell of the goblins and orcs and Legolas’ injury and recovery. So they went, all deciding that it would be best not to mention that the king’s daughter had given her heart to an elf that Thranduil had little liking and no love for. Except one.”

“Nandol,” they all said, sighed and cursed.        

“He told the Elvenking,” Bella said, “because he was jealous.”

“Indeed he did for, as I said, Nandol’s love of Legolas was a selfish thing and he had no room in his heart for her happiness outside of his own. While others looked upon them and saw their joy, the sight of Elrond’s hand upon the cheek of the one he wanted filled Nandol with a bitter fury. And so to the Greenwood went a party of Silvan elves, and among them was Nandol. He planned to tell the Elvenking his own version of events, seeking the king’s favour, revenge on Elrond, and Legolas’ removal from him.

“It was Erynion, one of the most loyal of the Silvian guards, who told the story to Thranduil. He told the Elvenking of his daughter’s courage and strength, and of their battle with goblin and orc alike. He swore to the king that his daughter was recovering, and reassured him that there were still a number of the Greenwood’s finest to protect her. Among them was Tauriel, sister to Erynion, who had been Legolas’ companion for many years and loyal to her first and foremost.” Gandalf chuckled. “All of which meant that Thranduil gave the command that they would leave in the morning, instead of immediately.”

“Sounds about right,” Balin said, looking to Thorin, who huffed but didn’t disagree.

“It was then, after Erynion left and Thranduil was already worried for his daughter, that Nandol went to the Elvenking. With all deference and humility, he told the king he feared Legolas would never return to the Greenwood, not because she was near death but because the Half-Elven Elrond had stolen her heart. Thus did Nandol prey on all Thranduil’s fears — that his daughter would have her heart wounded by one unworthy of her, and that he would lose her, all at once.”

“Wretch,” Kíli muttered. “None of his business, anyway.”

Gandalf nodded. “No, it was not. Thranduil feared for Legolas, and his fear grew to rage at the thought that she had been injured, and towards Elrond. It was not a single company who left the Greenwood for Imladris, but several. More than three hundred Silvan warriors lead by their king in all his strength and glory. And to Imladris they rode.

“Word came to Elrond when they reached the mountains, and he realized that this was no mere visit. Swiftly did he summon Galadriel and Celeborn, Círdan the Shipwright, and myself for he hoped that we might speak reason to Thranduil.” Thorin gave a bitter laugh and Bella bit her lip as she looked between the dwarf king and the elven princess; whatever else, Thranduil was still her father.

“That,” Legolas said, “was my exact reaction, Oakenshield.”

“Thranduil came to the meeting place above the falls, and with him came seven elves in their battle dress. He ignored all others save Legolas, demanded she come to him immediately and bid her leave Imladris in haste. Though she greeted him with loving words, she refused to go to him or to leave. The Elvenking raged, and spoke harsh words and insults to Elrond and to all of us who tried to calm him. Legolas begged him to be reasonable, to listen to the words of her heart but he would not be moved. Elrond himself said little, knowing he could only further inflame Thranduil.

“And then the king said what we feared. He swore he would have his child away from Elrond or there would be war between Imladris and the Greenwood.”


	3. Two

* * *

* * *

Kíli inhaled as her grip on her uncle and brother tightened. She had never been to war, only faced small battles and skirmishes with orcs and raiders. But none of Durin’s Folk had gone untouched by war in the years since Erebor fell, and she was no different.

Her mother spoke rarely of the days after Erebor fell, as they wandered far and were attacked by opportunists and dark creatures and lost more of those who managed to escape Smaug. Then there was her grandfather, great-grandfather, and uncle Frerin, who had all fallen in the Battle of Azanulbizar along with so many others and who Kíli had never met. Her father, Víli, had been killed in an orc raid on a mining camp when she had barely been born, and Fíli’s remembered only a little of their parent.

And of course, there was Uncle Thorin, who dreamed even now of Azanulbizar and the fall of Erebor, and who would sometimes wake them with nightmares of dragonfire or Azog. No, Kíli had no wish for war and could not imagine threatening it so casually. Worse, war with your own race and over something that should bring happiness.

“What did you do?” she asked Legolas, the quiet words carrying through the room as they were all silent.

Legolas looked pale and sad as she went to speak, but another voice came from the shadowed doorway and made the elf smile and turn.

“She removed the crown of gold and jade she wore on her brow,” Elrond said as he emerged. His voice was low and rich and he only had eyes for Legolas, who seemed to grow brighter as they watched. “Along with all signs of her rank, including the archery brace bearing the sigil of Thranduil’s house, and the long blade that had belonged to Oropher, her grandfather. She lay them before the Elvenking and told him that if he would make war over his daughter, then she had no father. For she would claim no sire who would make war over her choices, nor would she allow those who protected her home to be made kinslayers.”

“Well done,” someone said, and Kíli realized it was her. She reached up to touch one of her beads, made of mithril and sapphire and bearing the mark of Durin. “I suppose I’d have just cut these off.” Beside her, Thorin actually shuddered.

Legolas laughed as Elrond came to stand behind her chair, resting his hands on her shoulders. The elven lord seemed amused as well, though he showed less than his wife. “That would be dramatic, though you might slowly undo the braids and remove the beads?”

Kíli pictured it and nodded. “Yes, that might work better.”

“Thank the stone fathers,” Thorin muttered.

“Well,” the wizard chuckled, “Thranduil was certainly surprised and not a little horrified. Had he wit to speak then, he would have lost it entirely when Legolas went to Elrond and knelt before his chair. She apologized to him, for he was an elven lord and she was only a simple elf without title or lineage, with only her skill with her bow to her name. All she could offer him was her heart.”

Kíli was still listening, letting Gandalf’s voice wash over her while she watched the couple with half-closed eyes. Lord Elrond had taken a lock of Legolas’ hair and ran it gently between his fingers and she leaned back against him, reaching up to lay a hand on his.  

“Lady Galadriel spoke to Thranduil, trying to convince him of the folly of his path; that he would lose his daughter forever in his desperation to keep her. There is no way of knowing if her words, or Legolas’ actions, would have made him see reason for the Elvenking is proud and does not like to give way. Maybe the two combined would have been enough, but it does not matter for what came next did convince him.”

Gandalf paused to take a drink and a pull on his pipe. “While Galadriel reasoned with Thranduil, Elrond drew Legolas to her feet and he told her she must never kneel to him or any other creature in Middle-Earth; nor should she apologize, for her heart was a greater treasure than all the wealth of the elven realms. He confessed that should it come to it, he would give dominion of Imladris to another and leave, if that was the only way to avert war without giving her up. And that he would not do.

“Among elvenkind there are many whose beauty is spoken of and a few who transcend imagination. Galadriel is one of them, her beauty as timeless as starlight, as is her granddaughter, Arwen Undómiel, called Evenstar. Legolas is considered among the fairest of her kin though none would have proclaimed her more so than the Lady of Lothlórien or Arwen; not until that day.”

Legolas coloured and glared at Gandalf. “No more wine for you, Mithrandir, for I fear you’ve had too much already.”

“Now, Legolas —”

“You will not sway me. Who but a man rendered senseless would compare me to Arwen, who is Lúthien remade, or to the Lady of the Golden Wood?”

Elrond raised a brow. “I hope you do not expect me to disagree with him, Legolas.”

“I never expect sense from you when it comes to me, Elrond,” Legolas told him cheerfully, and made them all laugh and Elrond sigh.

“You call me inebriated, Legolas, but Celeborn was not that day and he has been wed for millennia to Galadriel herself.” Gandalf pointed his pipe to make his point, then set it back in his teeth. “Legolas heard Elrond’s words, and they so moved her that she seemed to glow. The radiance of starlight was hers, and nowhere was it more evident than in her eyes, which were only for Elrond. He did not notice at all for he had seen his beloved in all her glory when he first spoke his heart to her, but Celeborn was so amazed by the change in her that it drew his breath, and his reaction alerted all those present. Including Thranduil, who saw his child in greater beauty than he had ever witnessed.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” Gloin said, “but people don’t just  _glow_.”

“Dwarves may not, but elves can, for they are bestowed with the Grace of the Valar, which grants them immortality. Great grief can diminish their grace, making them seem frailer and more worn, and great joy can strengthen it. Such was it with Legolas, who seemed to be like mithril brought into the light.” All the dwarves started nodding; mentions of grace and starlight meant little to them, but mithril was something they understood. “And where Thranduil might have resisted reason or sense, he could not disregard what he saw with his own eyes, and all talk of war was ended.”

“Wait a minute,” Bella said suddenly. “Where was Nandol?” Kíli’s eyes widened and they all realized the story wasn’t yet over.

“Clever Bella,” Gandalf said. “Caught that, did you? Excellent. Yes, Nandol was there, having been one of the warriors Thranduil brought with him. Talk of war had pleased him but when Legolas set aside her legacy he was furious, and Elrond’s response was even worse. But it was when Thranduil relented that Nandol was driven to madness, and he drew his sword to run Elrond through.”

Dwalin spat a Khuzdul curse that made Kíli and Ori both blush to hear. Balin frowned at his brother. “Only Lord Elrond, or Lady Legolas as well?”

“Both,” the wizard admitted, and Kíli saw Elrond’s hand turn to clasp Legolas’. “She saw Nandol coming and cried a warning, turning away Elrond from the blow. The guards fell on Nandol to stop him but in his rage, he possessed a terrible strength. By the time he was relieved of his sword, Elrond cut badly and Legolas had been pierced in the side.”

“I don’t recommend it,” Legolas said. “And my healer was insufferable, seeing as I had only just left the healing hall.” She smiled up at Elrond, who raised an eyebrow at her but lost much of the stiffness in his shoulders.

Gandalf smiled. “He was certainly displeased. Had he a sword, Elrond might have cut off Nandol’s head then and there. But to the healing halls they went and in the days that followed Thranduil’s heart was softened a little to the idea of Elrond and his daughter. Enough so that, by the time he left with his army to return to the Greenwood — taking Nandol to reside in the dungeons there even now, it must be said — he left Legolas behind. And he gave permission for Elrond to marry his daughter so long as his conditions were met.”

Kíli frowned, but Bella nodded. “Grandfather made Papa build a new smial for Mama before he let them marry. She was his favourite daughter, and while the Bagginses are very respectable, they aren’t so well-off as the Tooks.”

Kíli and Fíli looked at each other and then their uncle, who huffed. “It wasn’t to me that Víli had to prove himself, but to your mother.”

“How long did it take him?” Fíli asked.

“About three years.”

“What were his conditions?” Ori asked, his pen poised. Kíli knew he’d written the whole story down.

“That there would always be a number of Silvan elves in Imladris who would answer first to Legolas,” Elrond explained. “They might be sent to defend the borders but there would always be at least one among them within Imladris who’s first and last duty was to protect her. She would keep her title and name and always be welcome in the Greenwood, and visit at least once a century. And that any children would spend time in his kingdom, that they might know Thranduil and the halls of their forefathers.”

“And so,” Gandalf said, voice weighty with finality, “it came to pass that Legolas Glorim **í** rë of Greenwood the Great wed Elrond Peredhel of Imladris and brought both lands together. Such has it been for more than a century, and so may it be until the remaking of the world.”

“So may it be,” Kíli murmured with the rest of their company and the listening elves.

“A good story!” Balin proclaimed warmly. “Well told, Tharkûn.”

“Mind you,” Bofur said, “if it was a dwarven tale, Thranduil would have challenged Elrond to combat.”

“Excuse me?” Legolas asked. “Combat?”

“It’s an old tradition,” Thorin explained. “A suitor or a parent might challenge the other to combat to prove their worth, or because they were refused permission to court. In the royal houses, it can also avert war.”

“Of course,” Fíli said cheerfully, “They don’t usually fight for real — it’s more like a test. Say Kíli wanted to marry Nali of the Iron Hills —”

Kíli shoved her elbow into his side. Hard. “Shut your mouth, Fíli! Nali can’t tell silver from mithril and he’s started four different crafts only to abandon them and move on to something more glamorous. I’d rather marry a Blacklock!”

“I didn’t say you’d do it!”

“Pick a better example, Fíli,” Thorin rumbled.

“Yes, fine,” Fíli complained. “Well, say Kíli wanted to marry someone, and Uncle Thorin said no — that dwarf might challenge uncle for the right to. Or, instead of saying no, Thorin might just challenge him instead. Since he’s so well known as a warrior, just showing up would prove that the dwarf — who is not Nali,” he added when Kíli nudged him, “was serious. Or, Kíli might challenge Uncle Thorin for her right overrule him.”

“Sounds complicated,” one of the twins said.

“It can be, but there is rarely any actual fighting. The challenge is enough to prove how serious you are, since no one would dare take such a thing lightly,” Fíli explained.

“If Kíli were to challenge me for refusing a suitor, she would proclaim the strength of her resolve. And if I were to accept the challenge, and appear ready to fight, then I would declare to her the depths of my reservations. We would not fight in earnest, but we would make our feelings known to each other.”

“You cannot challenge your father to combat,  _mirë_ ,” Elrond said mildly.

“Are you sure?”

“We are not dwarves, Legolas.”

“Not enough beads,” Kíli told her. “You’d need one with your father’s seal and another for Lord Elrond at the very least. Then you’d look enough like a dwarf to challenge someone to trial by combat.”

“Can we watch?”

“No,” Elrond told his sons. “What are you doing out of your beds?”

“Nothing,  _adar._ ”

“We’ll just go back now,  _adar_.”

Elrond waited until they had retreated part of the way down the room before saying, “I was going to release you back to our rooms, but if you still feel poorly enough to need the healing hall . . .” The twins froze and stared at their amused father. “Let that be a lesson to you. Erestor will help you to your beds. As for the rest of you, it is late and this is a place of healing, not the Hall of Fire. Return to your beds or your duties.”

Kíli was sincerely impressed by how quickly the room emptied, and so was the company. Legolas was smiling, and Elrond turned a stern look on Gandalf. “Why is it, Mithrandir, that this kind of chaos only seems to follow you?”

“I believe, old friend, that I just spent an hour explaining the normal chaos that occurs amid the peace of Imladris,” the wizard said, contentedly smoking his pipe.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

* * *

However much they needed sanctuary, it was hard for Thorin to feel at ease among elves. Lack of sleep was a common state for him and rather than lay in bed, staring at an unforgiving ceiling — or listen to snores that would collapse a mine — he rose to find his boots and coat and sword.

Peaceable or not, he was a dwarf among elves and would not go unarmed.

It was a short walk to check on the wounded. Only Fíli, Dori and Balin were injured seriously enough to need further healing but the elves had kept everyone who had taken injury in the healing hall for the night. Oín, their own healer, had not only agreed but accepted a bed of his own there, the better to keep an eye on stubborn dwarrow.

Thorin checked on Balin first, his cousin and closest advisor for many years. The older dwarf slept comfortably, he was relieved to see, as did the rest of the company. Only then did he move to check on his sister-son.

Fíli’s breathing was deep and even and he looked very young despite his beard and braids. Thorin ran a hand over his blonde hair and watched him sleep, waiting for his hands to stop trembling. Fíli had managed to take up exactly half the bed and no more, back facing the centre. For much of their childhood he and his sister had shared a bed, sleeping back to back, and the habit persisted. One day, Fíli’s spouse would no doubt be grateful for it.

A hushed sound on the terrace had Thorin turning, sword half-drawn. Outside the windows, a pair of silhouettes passed — far too short to be elves. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one awake.

Outside, he followed his sister-daughter and the burglar as they wandered, pausing to gaze across the elven city or to murmur to each other. He’d know they’d grown close, being the only two females on the quest — they had teamed up to trick the three trolls with surprising ease — and deep down he was pleased for it as well as how stealthily they moved.

Deep, deep down under his worry and temper and, as Kíli would say, his general poor disposition.

He followed them down to a lower terrace and came to stand behind the pair of them as they leaned over the railing. Crossing his arms, he cleared his throat.

The burglar gave a small shriek and spun, clutching at both the railing and her heart. Kíli fell backwards onto her arse, fumbling for a blade she wasn’t wearing.

“Don’t  _do_  that,” Bellamira gasped. Kíli said a curse that, were she younger or her mother present, would have gotten her swatted and Dwalin threatened with an ax.

“What are you two doing?”

“Being murdered by my own uncle,” Kíli huffed. “Thorin!”

“You should not be wandering alone, at night, in a strange place filled with  _elves_ ,” he growled.

“They’ve been perfectly kind to us!” Bellamira said.

“We weren’t alone! We were together!” Kíli added.

“Kind  _so far_  — and neither of you is armed! Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“We couldn’t, and I wanted to check on Fíli,” Kíli said, getting to her feet and brushing off her bottom. “And Bella wanted to look around.”

“I’ve always wanted to see Rivendell,” the burglar murmured. “My mother came, once, before she married my father. She was the first hobbit to go so far in her lifetime.”

He continued to frown at both of them, refusing to be softened by his sister-daughter’s wide eyes or the pretty burglar’s wistfulness. Neither of them were wearing a coat and Kíli didn’t even have boots. The hobbit’s face fell and Kíli pouted.

“Only for a while,” he gave in, ungraciously, “and then to bed with you both.” He did not smile when Kíli hugged him fiercely, nor did his heart warm when Bella smiled prettily at him.

“I told you he was only  _nearly_  always a grump,” Kíli said and then yelped when Thorin swatted her. “Uncle!”

“If you want to look around an elf city, then do so.” Kíli grinned at him, caught the burglar’s hand and dragged her down towards the gardens. Grumbling under his breath, Thorin followed them. Someone had to keep an eye on them.

“Must you always meddle, Mithrandir?”

“My dear Elrond, I am hardly meddling. I am . . . helping.”

Thorin paused in the shadow of an archway as the elf-lord and the wizard entered the gardens. The burglar stopped as well but Kíli would have continued if they hadn’t caught the back of her tunic.

“Helping? Mithrandir, have you finally taken leave of your senses?”

“My senses are as intact as they have ever been.”

“That does not instill confidence.” Gandalf huffed and blustered and Elrond turned to face him. “Do not insult me, Mithrandir, by trying to claim that this company is not bound for Erebor.”

“I hardly need to lie about it.”

“Mithrandir. That dragon has slept for sixty years, and you would risk —”

“Smaug is dangerous.”

“So is  _waking_ him!”

“Elrond, there is darkness stirring in the Greenwood — spiders weave webs large enough to ensnare a horse and Dol Guldur is no longer abandoned.” The wizard’s voice dropped and he was once again a powerful and wise Istari rather than a teasing old man, fond of stories and fireworks. “And there, within reach of both, is a vast and powerful foe, beholden to no one and ripe for temptation. Smaug must be dealt with, once and for all, before something more dangerous even than he seeks to ally with him.”

“You risk a great deal on the bare chance of the Enemy gaining enough strength to tip his hand,” Elrond said, looking tired. “Is it worth it?”

“It must be.”

“And if this quest is successful? What then, Mithrandir?”

“Then Erebor will be reclaimed, the dragon will be gone, and the dwarves will have their great stronghold once more. All the free peoples of Middle-Earth will be strengthened.”

“Possession of Erebor did not stop Thrór from going mad,” the elf said. “Thorin carries that same blood, and with it the curse of gold-madness.  He has led his people well despite their circumstance, and you may do him no favours by helping him regain that mountain.”

Thorin said nothing when the hobbit glanced at him, only watching the tall folk speak. The fear that lived in his heart rose up into his throat, choking any possibility of words.

“That throne is his birthright, Elrond, and the mountain that of Durin’s folk. They would go on this quest regardless of my presence — I only hope to increase the odds in their favour.”

“Better to act,” Legolas said, coming down the stairs behind them, “than to do nothing while opportunity passes by.” As she passed the shadows where they stood, she glanced at Thorin and gave him a faint smile.

Elrond held out a hand as she approached and drew her to his side. “Sometimes,  _meleth nín_ , doing nothing is the wiser option.”

The she-elf raised a hand to his cheek. “But failing to act when you should have is far worse than acting when you should not.”

The wizard leaned on his staff and looked out over the valley, giving privacy to the couple beside him. The females beside Thorin weren’t so restrained as they watched; Kíli leaned forward as if trying to get closer.

Elrond closed his eyes on a sigh, touching his forehead to hers. “Of course you are on his side,” he said.

“I can be on his side but remain at yours. It is late and you are tired from healing so many,” she added softly. “There is nothing else to be done this night. You can speak with Oakenshield in the morning.”

“I will join you soon.” He touched his lips to her cheek.

“And let you wear yourself out further by battling wits with a wizard?” She cupped his face in her hands and pressed a kiss to his lips. It had to be a trick of the light that seemed to make them glow. “Join me now,  _mell nín_.”  

“Mithrandir.” The wizard turned to Elrond, looking innocent and amused. The elf sighed. “Do not undo the peace of Imladris in a single night.”

“Even I would need at least a week to do such a thing, my friend.”

“Yes, but you and thirteen dwarves combined might manage it in an hour.”

“Do put him to bed before his temper sours further, Legolas.” Elrond gave Gandalf a dry look, but she laughed and drew her husband away. Chuckling to himself, the wizard wandered off, undoubtedly to find some chaos to cause.

“It’s time for bed,” Thorin said, turning back towards the stairs. The burglar followed but his sister-daughter lingered. “Kíli?”

She stared across the garden to where the elves were climbing another staircase. Thorin frowned, not understanding until Bellamira went to stand beside her. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? The two of them.”

“Yes,” Kíli sighed. “It is.”

* * *

Elrond sighed as the door to their chambers closed. A warm summer breeze came through the open windows and a few lamps were lit. He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes.

“You are tired, Elrond.”

“I was not the one who fought orcs.”

“But you did spend much of it healing the aftermath.” Strong, delicate fingers touched his brow, removing the circlet upon it. He opened his eyes to meet the sapphire gaze of his wife. He waited until Legolas unwound the braids in his hair, and then returned the favour.

Hair entirely unbound, Legolas set aside both their crowns and let his dark robe fall away from her shoulders. Elrond watched her move, alert for any signs of pain or injury.

“I am fine,  _mell nín_. You saw that for yourself earlier.”

“Perhaps I am enjoying the sight of the most beautiful creature in Middle-Earth.”

“I would be flattered, but I know quite well you are looking for wounds and not at my behind.”

“I am capable of both.”

She laughed and the tension in his shoulders eased. His beloved and both his sons had been in great danger today, hunted by orcs so close to the border of his land, but they had all returned to him. The twins would heal in a few days and Legolas, a miracle he had never expected, needed only rest to recover.

“Worried that you overlooked something in your first inspection of my person?” she said. Her husky tone was reminiscent of hours ago, when he had checked her for injuries and reassured himself of her health while she washed the filth of battle away in the baths. “Perhaps you should check again.” Her robe fell to the ground at her feet and she walked up the stairs that lead to their bedroom.

Only when she left his sight did Elrond gather his wits enough to follow.

There were no lamps in the bedroom, only the light of the waxing crescent moon and the stars — it might as well have been full daylight to elven eyes. Legolas glowed in the starlight, stealing his breath yet again. They both fumbled with the fastenings of his robes, getting in each other’s way and laughing against each other’s mouths. Eventually, Elrond pressed her down into the soft bedding, shedding the last of his clothing before settling on top of her.

“Am I all in one piece, husband?” Legolas said against his mouth before setting her teeth gently against his bottom lip.

“At first glance — but I will need to check carefully.”

“As milord wishes.” She lay back with her hand above her head. “At your pleasure, Lord Elrond.”

“It will be,” he murmured, running his hands over her supple flesh, and then his lips. She sighed when he tasted the slight curve of her breast and moaned when he took the peak in his mouth. And when he kissed her flushed quim, she cried his name.

Tangled demands and curses and words of love fell from her in both Sindarin and the Silvan tongue as he drove her to the stars. Like all elves — and unlike Elrond, with his mortal blood — Legolas was hairless but for her head and there was nothing to hide the signs of her pleasure from him as he sipped her like wine.

Fingers strengthened by centuries of archery clutched his shoulders, drawing him from between her thighs. “Enough! Now!”

“So impatient,” he told her, pushing up onto his knees. Legolas sprawled beneath him, long-limbed and pale in the moonlight, silken hair tumbled around her and flushed with pleasure. “And so beautiful.  _Meleth e-guilin_.”

“Elrond —  _mell nín_  — please!”

He cupped her hips in his hands and entered her in one slow thrust; Legolas wrapped her arms around his back and drew him down to her as they moved together in a lover’s dance as old as starlight.

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted to darkseraphina.wordpress.com


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